


Overdone It

by Orchidaexa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Gen, Healing Magic, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/pseuds/Orchidaexa
Summary: There's far too many miraculous recoveries. Aziraphale knows that this is divine interference.





	Overdone It

This was the third miraculous recovery he'd heard of so far this week, and it was only Tuesday. Aziraphale rubbed along a worry line on his forehead, and he considered the circumstances. Three children, all with terminal cancer, all miraculously cancer free. He considered if it had been the antichrist's doing, when he had reverted the world, but that was unlikely. There was no real relation between the children, and unlike most of the ripples that had happened, there had never been any celestial or occult manipulation involved in the situation. This slapped far too much of angelic intervention, celestial fingertips all over the situation, an angelic glow radiating from somewhere. It took very little detective work to work out which hospital all the children were being treated at. 

Noting the location (Great Ormond Street Hospital, of course), the angel reached out to the phone to call Crowley before pausing. Firstly, he hadn't heard from Crowley in about a week and a half- no surprise considering what the armaggeddon't had taken out of him, a long nap was clearly required- and Crowley was very sensitive about the suffering of children anyway. No, Aziraphale had to do this alone. 

The bus ran precisely to time. It was a breezy, nicely aired bus, with functioning windows. Nobody had to squeeze on, and it was easy to while away the short ride by staring out the window. This was not, as such, a conscious decision from Aziraphale, and more that he just expected the buses to be like that. It gave him thinking space, as he considered the possibilities. Perhaps interference of another angelic being? But who could it really be? Aziraphale wracked his brains, questioning each possibility with a certain open mindedness before rejecting each one. There was also the fact that the majority of angels would simply heal the children they needed to and move on, call it a day. They always did like to focus in like that, and the only being that Aziraphale knew of that did things on a less individualised scale was, well, Crowley. It had to be an angel who specialised in healing- but many who did simply wouldn’t have thought so big with their plans. It was a rather narrow list that Aziraphale had left, and, quite frankly, aside from an Archangel, very few would be able to pull off a blessing so big that Aziraphale could feel it from over a mile away, and the closer he got, the more it pulsed in his brain. 

No matter, thought Aziraphale, as he finished mulling it over. He stepped off the bus with caution and made his way into the hospital, towards the glow of celestial blessing that he could feel tugging him onwards. He'd know soon enough. A blessing this strong was bound to leave fingerprints. 

What Aziraphale hadn't been expecting was Crowley's imprints. All over it. The room belonged to a Dr Dhavandri. "Really dear," the angel had murmured, settling himself into a chair to work.[1] He shouldn't be surprised, the serpent always had been a soft touch for children. The strength was another matter of course. But why now? 

It had been an easy matter to tone down the blessing somewhat, instead reducing pain and suffering, easing symptoms and slowing the spread of cancer. It had been a trickier matter to slowly peel off the essence of Crowley that had been left all over the blessing, instead leaving it celestial and radiant and with no smudges of anyone's soul.[2] Finally, with a somewhat major miracle that drained rather a lot of Aziraphale's energy (especially while his corporation was still so fresh), he had ensured that a miraculous new treatment protocol would be discovered. He'd only swayed once as he got to his feet to leave. 

No wonder Crowley was having such a long nap. 

The bus on the way to Crowley's apartment had been crowded, smelt of damp and body odour and was delayed. Aziraphale had no energy left for even the miracles that he expected to happen. 

When he arrived, letting himself through the front door with a complex code that Crowley had imparted on him, Aziraphale had reached out to brush Crowley's aura. He found that hint of yellow and gold, feeling weak and brittle. It was drained, and Aziraphale sensed no wards against angels or demons around the flat. He rolled his eyes skywards as he considered the appropriate course of action. His own energy was drained, but he could at least keep watch until he'd recuperated enough to ward the place. A nice cup of tea and a few biscuits wouldn't go amiss. 

It took 3 days for Aziraphale to regain enough energy to set up a ward, which he’d found particularly surprising. He’d tried the first day and nearly thrown up from exertion- he’d forgotten to turn off his internal workings before making the attempt. He glared hard at Crowley through the door of his bedroom for a full minute- the bastard had made his life incredibly hard, and then he’d simply collapsed with nary a thought for his own safety- before softening, eyes tracing the way bright red hair looked whilst ruffled against the pillow.

Aziraphale had then proceeded to spend the next hour reading the same three words in his book over and over again. He told himself it was because he was exhausted from his attempt at a miracle, but knew full well it was because he was imagining soft red curls on the wall of Eden.

After the wards were up, Aziraphale relaxed again. He still returned to the flat daily, to check the plants, check the wards, with a few research books. It made him more comfortable to be around the other whilst he was asleep, now that both sides had something serious against them both. The tomes he brought as research were thick, dusty. There were bibles, qabbalistic works, anything he could think of that would help him piece together the dots in his mind.

As Crowley slumbered, Aziraphale once more imagined the demon with soft flowing ringlets of hair that graced his shoulders, red and beautiful, as he looked on Aziraphale with wide snake eyes. He thought of his concern for children, the avoidance of the worst human creations, the disgust of those who did awful things in the name of hell. He thought of the haunted, tired look in Crowley’s eyes around the time of the plague, and the way he had clung onto Aziraphale after a week of drinking because of the Spanish Inquisition. So many points in time where Crowley had shown that deep, open compassion for humanity. 

He’d thought it, hadn’t he? Only an Archangel would have been able to pull off such a strong blessing.

Enough puzzle pieces were starting to slot together. As such, a week and a half after the wards had been placed, Crowley stirred and opened his eyes to spot a surprisingly smug angel in a chair in the corner of his bedroom.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, as he carefully placed his bookmark in the old book, closing it with precision, “I’m not surprised you slept for so long.” He set the tome down on the floor, tucking it under a chair leg. Crowley groaned, pulling the covers back over himself, hair sticking out still, reminiscent of a fiery paint brush.

Aziraphale patiently smiled, leaning back in the chair and considered his demonic counterpart. “You’ve pulled off a lot of big miracles, my dear.” His eyes swept over the lump that was starting to move around a bit more, a hand tugging down the cover so that yellow eyes peeked over the edge.

“Whaddya want, angel?” The sleep addled demon was slurring his words in a way that usually only happened under the influence of alcohol. 

Aziraphale laced his hands together, in his lap. “You were foolish to leave yourself without wards, Crowley. Foolish to not leave enough for them.”

“Dun’t matter.” The eyes disappeared back beneath the covers.

“I would have cared if someone had discorporated you, my dear boy.” Aziraphale took a controlled breath. He didn’t need it, but found it was somewhat grounding. Reminded him that, for all his divinity, he was still rather human. “Besides, you left a lot of your essence on that blessing in the hospital.”

Crowley tensed. Aziraphale could tell by the way the lump stiffened. “Don’t gotta tell the whole blessed world,” it grouched.

“I removed the hints that pointed to you.” The angel left out any information about toning down the blessing, since that was rather more complex to talk about. “You may have overdone it, there’ve been 15 reported miraculous recoveries since then. And I suspect rather more are out there than have been discovered or discussed.”

Finally, the demon roused and sat up. “Good,” he said, reaching for his sunglasses, squinting hard at white hair.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tilting his head. “I suppose the blessings of Raphael have always been a little on the strong side.”

Crowley swallowed and shoved his glasses on his face. If the pit of his stomach had dropped, he did a rather good job of pretending otherwise.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “I did always have the tendency to overdo it.”

Smiling at the stoic Crowley, Aziraphale rose. “One question, Crowley.” He took the nod as encouragement to go on. “Why now?”

There was a wan smirk, as Crowley ran his fingers through his hair, minor miracle arranging it perfectly the first time. “They’re all too busy looking at the fact that we didn’t die to care what we do or don’t do. That and-” He paused to stretch, vertebrae popping, a blissful expression hazing over his face for a moment. Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare at the skin stretching over toned muscle. “-I still had some celestial energy leftover from that trick we did.”

Blue eyes meet reflective surface, and the angel nodded. “Well, that delightful cafe on the corner is currently serving brunch. What do you think, my dear?”

Crowley leant back, thoroughly relaxed. A soft smile tugged at his lips, it could almost be described as _fond_. “Whatever you fancy, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Dhanvantari is the Hindu god of healing, a fact that had not escaped Aziraphale’s notice. [return to text]
> 
> [2] Since Crowley was in hell's bad books right now, Aziraphale really didn't want to risk any celestial or occult being coming across this and working out who had laid this incredibly powerful blessing. No one needed to know a demon worked good. [return to text]
> 
> Link to the Great Ormond Street Hospital Charity: [here](https://www.gosh.org/)  
> They're a very reputable children's hospital in the UK that deals with some of the rarest childhood conditions in the UK.


End file.
